


The Football 'widow', the Scotch and the Ghost

by asparagusmama, BabyKlingon



Category: Inspector Morse - Fandom, Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, episode related s06ep04 The Indelible Stain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-07 23:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyKlingon/pseuds/BabyKlingon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hathaway, at home with his drink and not a book in sight, regrets suggesting Hobson as a football and beer pub companion when he is rudely interrupted from his maudlin thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Football 'widow', the Scotch and the Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Very slight reference to childhood abuse at Crevecoeur Hall and another incident up at Cambridge.
> 
> Title an homage to the very sweet 'Fast Freddie, the Widow and Me!'

James curled up in his chair, his fingers curling around his glass of Scotch, scowling in the twilight. He should get up and switch on the light, but he couldn’t be bothered. He clumsily put the glass down and shakily poured himself another.

“I shouldn’t, if I were you,” said a voice, a cultured male voice. 

Startled James looked up. Sitting in the other chair beside him was a man. Well, the fuzzy, see-through outline of a man, a mature man with white hair dressed impeccably in a three piece suit in dark blue pin stripe and a mauve silk tie over a white shirt. He had the deepest blue eyes and the longest, most beautiful eyelashes James had ever seen on a man. In his manicured hand he held a glass of Scotch. Not a glass of James’, no, he held a cut glass crystal tumbler full of the amber liquid.

“I do know what I’m talking about, you know young man.” The man’s eyes twinkled as he looked at the Scotch, somehow taking in the half full ashtray and the empty coffee pot. “Caffeine. Nicotine. Alcohol. A deadly combination.”

“S’my body,” James slurred.

“Is it?”

“And you’re going to lecture me on the body being the Temple of the Holy Spirit are you?”

“Of course I would never be so presumptuous, although I am spirit, Sergeant. No, I would only wish to point out that body of yours is so appreciated by Lew-is, and he has lost so many people already.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Morse. A friend of Lew-is. He keeps inviting you out and you keep refusing. Why James?”

“I don’t like football. Or...” James waved his glass about in a vague manner, “things.”

“Things?” queried Morse harshly. “Are you referring to the activities in general Lew-is enjoys or sex.”

James spluttered his drink. “Sex! Who told you! What!”

“I do know Lew-is is your governor young man, and has forbidden you telling a soul, but he has confided in me. That is to say, he talks to me as well as Val at her grave. I don’t have one, didn’t want all the fuss, I didn’t consider those I left behind. Didn’t even realise I was leaving many behind who would hurt so much. So, don’t you like it? Sex that is? I was always rather partial to sex, when I had a body. Didn’t get nearly enough. So, is it sex to which you refer as not liking ‘things’?” Morse waved an arm about in an imitation of James.

“No. Not that. I love him! But he... he... he...” James floundered. “He’s straight.”

“Presumably that is why you told him to ask Dr. Hobson out?”

“She’s desperately dropping hints and he just doesn’t seem to notice. She’s so much better for him than me. Nearer his age. Female. No hang ups.”

“Of course Robbie notices, you foolish boy. Lew-is always had the makings of a fine detective, and he is one, no small thanks to myself. He had noticed and decided to ignore it all rather than have to face letting the woman down gently. Of course he wants you.”

James snorted. “’til something better comes along!”

“You underestimate yourself,” Morse’s ghost said sadly.

“Robbie Lewis is straight, obviously a woman is a much better option. I’m not a fool, I know he’s only using me to... to... to...”

“Sate his lust upon?” offered Morse, sitting up straight, looking angry, glass vanishing and all ethereal, shadowy form coalescing into the appearance of solid matter.

“Well yes,” countered James, sitting up fully, but as about 90% of his height was his legs he didn’t look that impressive.

“And you would let him, thinking that?”

“I love him. And that’s what men DO!” James slurred angrily.

“Wrong! Christ, I’d slap you if my hand wouldn’t pass straight through your obstreperous skull and brain! First, it’s what Mortmaigne and one of your tutors did, not all men apart from you. Grow up. Secondly, and pay attention James – how can you work for the man for six years and sleep with him for a year and know nothing of the man? The honourable, moral, BISEXUAL, Detective Inspector Robert Lewis.”

“Bisexual?”

“Oh yes, my sergeant’s eyes roved, even if no other part did. I detected early on my new sergeant batted for both teams, but was also completely faithful. He made me completely reappraise my view of bisexual men, whom I took in the past to be sex addicts or closet, married homosexuals. If he’s with you it’s not to use you, he fancies you, James, he finds you sexually attractive.”

“Oh.”

“Of course he does. Blond, leggy, sharp cheekbones; just his type. But here’s the important part, and God knows I know from his constant lectures and snipes – Lew-is only does sex when he’s in love. They go together in his head. Full stop. No compromises. It’s how he has always operated. So, do you want to tell me why you’re pushing him away?”

“I want him to be happy.”

“You make him happy you stupid boy. He wanted you to go to the pub with him, didn’t he? Don’t you like the pub? I can see you’re partial to a malt and I’m certain you like a beer.”

“Beer, yes. Mild. Bitter. Not warm fizzy lager in a noisy, crowded modern bar surrounded by people shouting at a huge flat screen showing 22 men running around a muddy field.” James shuddered. “I had enough of that at school.”

“Well, I must say I’m with you James. But as a rule, you do like pubs.”

“I like quiet ones, by the river, with gardens and ducks and trees. I like old, beamed pubs with open fires. I do not like, as I think I said, noisy, crowded places with noisy flat screen TVs showing...”

“Yes. But he asked you so you wouldn’t be alone. He worries about you. Besides, you’re the one thinking him straight and old fashioned – don’t you get how this works?”

“What?”

“You go with him and put up with it even if you can’t quite bring yourself to pretend to like it. You keep him company because you love him and he can have you – metaphorically in this case – to show off on his arm.”

“What – like some eighteenth century trophy wife?” James sneered.

“Oh James, one step at a time, first let him take you out more and more, then he’ll move on to the pictures and restaurants and before you know it he’ll retire and no longer keep you a secret and then, yes, he’ll propose. He can do that, can’t he? Things have changed somewhat since my death.”

“Yes, yes things have changed.” James smiled. “I’m not sure I could...”

“Catholic guilt? Pride? Do yourself a favour James; let Lew-is look after you. Don’t end up a lonely, bitter old man with nothing but your music and malt to keep you warm. Don’t push away your chance of happiness through fear and doubts. He loves you, young man, heart and soul.”

“But how...” James stood up as Morse just faded out of existence; back to where ever he had came from. Not heaven, not purgatory, James’ theology failed him. He stared at the remainder of his Scotch and snatched it up and marched to the kitchen and determinedly poured it down the sink. He banged about the kitchen, looking in fridge, freezer and cupboards before snatching up his keys and heading out. In his car he sent Robbie a text.

‘Stay at mine tonight. I’ll cook supper so don’t get a takeaway. Then I can make sure you see the dentist. I’ll hold your hand xxx’

He got a reply as he was parking at Tescos. ‘Nag. Be there at 10. England shameful.’

‘Tell me when you get here. I’ll pretend to care. Love you x’

As James began to gather fresh ingredients for a soup he heard Morse’s voice in his ear, “He likes lentil soup.” James span around at the onions, but of course, as ever, Morse had already gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I promised myself a break until the end of term due to my health and issues with babyklingon and school, but having written the father's day for her and posted it she remined me of this one we wrote together.


End file.
